Gallagher Girls and Blackthorn Boys
by Flipping Seltzer
Summary: Character development oneshots from various characters POV. 10/01 Anna Fetterman up!
1. bex

Gallagher Girls and Blackthorn Boys

Disclaimer: Ally Carter owns everything.

Chapter One: Bex

Bex practically lives for school. The Gallagher Academy is on her mind every minute she's away from it and important to her every minute she's there. Because she was meant to do this.

It's in her blood and beyond that well… look at her. Watch her.

She's very good. It's something that she's known since the seventh grade when she broke Erin's nose automatically when the girl was trying to wake her up. Only Cammie wakes her up now because Cammie's the Chameleon. And Cammie understands. Cammie moves just as fast. Cammie's her best friend.

Which is why she's a little anxious about going to school this semester. This semester changes everything.

They'll be juniors. This year, when the career fair comes the suits won't just clap and mentally remember you. This year they start to write down your name and they fight for you. This year it's Cove Ops 3 and firing guns and doing real… well, spying. The Gallagher Academy makes Gallagher Girls, who become Gallagher Women, who are fought for and courted by the best intelligence agencies in the world. Gallagher Women are the best.

Gallagher Women are many things.

But they are not best friends.

She loves school because she can pretend that everything will always be one for all here. They fail as a class and they succeed as one too. In school she is always Cammie's partner. She is Duchess but everyone knows that Duchess is Bex and Bex is with Cammie and Cammie is the Chameleon.

She is a best friend. She is a Gallagher Girl.

But now she's that much closer to being a Gallagher Woman.

Cammie is the best pavement artist that Bex has ever seen. Even better than Mr. Smith—she beat him after all. Cammie's name has been remembered as much as hers, if not more. The same people that write down Bex's will write down Cammie's.

She's not a fool, no matter what Mr. Solomon thinks. Solomon thinks that they all live in this perfect dream where they think it'll be one for all forever. But most of them, they aren't stupid. She can see what he's been slowly doing, with the training and the boys and the harshness. It was just—she really didn't think of it until recently—didn't really imagine it.

The best names on those lists don't miraculously end up in the same agency. People are lucky to get one of the top five—she's looked at some of the recruitment lists—don't ask how. So she knows. Chameleon won't be with Duchess. They'll be on opposite sides.

Initially everyone tries to convince you that its not like that—that really the common good is all everyone wants; really aren't you all on the same side? The right side?

Liars. They're lying. But after all, they are spies, so really it isn't such a big deal. The lie helps people adjust, helps them live in a happy denial world where everyone isn't screwing over everyone else to be the best, to know everything.

Look at them even now. Even still as Gallagher Girls. Look at the Blackthorn thing. There was a good side, our side, and as far their superiors—their teachers—were concerned they on the good side. But wasn't it still just a big game—a big struggle—to see who knew the most about who? To see if they were really with them? For gods sake they bugged their dorms.

That would probably gain them style points on the lists.

The lists that would tear everything school was about, apart.

She and Cammie would not be best friends once the lists were finalized. Because as much as she loves her friend, if it came down to her or Cammie, she would chose herself. That's what Cove Ops will teach her in the end.

That day when the information she needs to be the best is between Rebecca and Cameron, she will do anything—anything—to get it.

She'll be a Gallagher Woman.

She lives for her school.


	2. joe solomon

AN: one shot takes place right after the tailing exercise in the first book, after he 'debriefed' Cammie and lectured the class.

Joe Solomon shared Rachel Morgan's love of a good run.

He liked how the air filled his lungs all the way and then rushed out when sprinting, a harsh burn to tell him he was alive. He ran a lot at Blackthorn. It was one of the lesser punishments.

Talk back—run 3 miles. Forgot your homework in your room—run 5 miles. Have your nose in business when it should have been down—that was a different kind of punishment.

He ran a little faster: he didn't like to think about Blackthorn. About the then. Joe appreciated what it did for him, what it taught him. But he preferred the now.

Now he was a top intelligence agent. He had done and saw things that no one else had. Kill a man with a paperclip—check. See Egypt, Antarctica, and a city in the USSR he couldn't even think—check. Have regrets—double check. When the regrets bubbled up he ran.

Tonight he passed the town, passed the real roads. Dirt was kicking up behind him on the old path, small pebbles smacking his calves and piles of dirt collecting in his trainers. He knew exactly where he was. 12 and a half miles away from the school, headed southeast. The stars and the GPS in his watch told him that. But his mind still felt a little lost. He slowed to a casual jog, the types stay at American home moms and soccer coaches take around a neighborhood. That's what he heard anyway. Maybe jogging was 'out' nowadays. He hadn't been in the states since Morgan's funeral. Not until Rachel had finally convinced him to come the Gallagher Academy.

To teach something real.

Well. They had a taste of something real tonight.

Thinking back over the exercise he had to acknowledge Cameron had done extraordinary. Most senior agents couldn't have tailed Smith that long. The man even admitted he hadn't even seen the girl. Cameron Morgan was a true pavement artist. But for as long as she had been preparing for this, the girl should be the best in her class. She should have better. Extraordinary wasn't good enough. She had to be better—he would make her the best.

Joe would make her invisible.

He had promised her mother after all.

His initial plan after talking to Rachel had been to come and teach for a few months, the endgame being to scare his goddaughter into quitting this spy business all together.

Gallagher girls and Blackthorn boys had no business playing at being spies. Hell, he barely had the capacity and he was… well he was getting up there.

But now… after seeing her in person for the first time since she was 6—well 6 or not crying and cationic—he changed his mind. She was made for this. Cameron Morgan could be the best and there was no way the government was going to let the best slide through their fingers. Even if the best wanted to escape.

And he'd stared into her face as he showed her best friends beaten and explained the true realities of loss and playing at caps and robbers.

She'd flinched. But only for a moment. And the fire that had sprung up after told him she wasn't going anywhere.

He picked up his pace.

So he'd make her the best. Better then Rachel, better than him. Better then her dad. Because he couldn't take her being anything but whole and alive and free the way she was when she was glaring at him with hate and pain in that classroom. He'd almost made her cry twice. He had a feeling it would happen again.

When she graduated she wouldn't cry again. He'd see to that.

He and Morgan weren't the best when they went on that mission. Fuck they weren't even second best. Morgan had paid the price. Rachel and Cameron had paid the price.

But he would make Cammie the best.

He played the spy game and lost once. It turned out the Gallagher Academy would give him what Blackthorn never had. A do-over. He'd never played video games—what did the screens say after you died?

Insert another coin and play again.

A sophomore in high school was his found quarter. He turned around and began the long haul back to the school, a rouge pebble rubbling at his heel, his lungs burning in the Virginia fall air. Mr. Solomon, teacher, had to get back. He had lesson plans to make.

Play again.


	3. liz

I disclaim.

Chapter 3: Liz Sutton.

Liz stared at the microscope in front of her, even the miniature beauty underneath unable to take her mind off her troubles.

Her hands itched to reach into the bag that sat by her feet, only a motion away from pulling out the disc that sat inside. The disc that Jonas had slipped to her right before the boys left. The disc that had a note—a note saying he liked her, liked her, and if she could just install this on one of the computers in the lab it'd be great and they could talk. A link between Blackthorn and Gallagher without anyone noticing.

A note she hadn't shown Macey or Cammie or Bex. It was hers, a declaration that didn't need deciphering or decoding. The translation was easy. Jonas had feeling for her—could maybe love her one day.

It meant that for once in her life she was like Bex and Cammie—the desired one, the cute one. Someone looked at her and saw a girl not just a walking computer.

Cammie complained because people didn't always see her. The thing the Chameleon didn't understand was that some people did. Josh, her mom, Zack. And anyone who saw Cammie could never say she was anything but beautiful, anything but unforgettable.

Liz was forgettable.

The declaration was tucked away in her trunk, right beside her first chemistry set and her letter saying she was invited to Gallagher. She carried the disc though. She was all alone in the lab, trusted in the sub lab to work on one of her various independent projects. Slowly, as if expecting someone like Solomon to jump out at her, she reached inside and pulled out the unassuming CD. It was regular, plain, only decorated with a smiley face that grinned up at her, urging her to give in to her heart.

But instead of bringing her a flush of joy the way it had a week ago—had it only been a week?—it caused a pit to form in her stomach, twisting her affection and easy nature into a sick, angry feeling.

Because it was a lie.

Jonas had underestimated her. She might be young and naïve and say Oopsie daisy but she was still a Gallagher girl.

Liz didn't put anything on a computer without running a diagnostic on it first. The program was a communication link. But it was also a Trojan spyware. Ironic really, spyware to hack into spy files. Blackthorn and Jonas would have everything—names class grades and comments, student histories. Teacher histories. He'd have stolen what they pretended to so recently.

They'd go home for the summer in two days. Most likely no one would notice the virus for months. Some of the most up and coming researchers and spies would be bench for years if not forever.

And it would have been, still could be, her fault.

She remembered the terror excitement and rush when they'd thought Josh and then Zack were honeypots. Her spit turned sour in her mouth at the reality. It wasn't one Cammie's handsome suitors with their smooth romance and good looks. It was geeky, stuttering, and sweaty handed Jonas, who'd wooed her with intelligence and science.

She twisted it in her hands the shiny, plastic surface catching the light, blinding her.

To load it or not?

Her heart longed to. She wanted to be ignorant, naïve. Liz wanted someone to see her, remember her, even if it was a lie.

No one would know.

.

Of all the girls with torrid histories, girls destined to be great field agents, she could do this. All of them crumbled—taken down by a clumsy nerd on the research track.

No one would forget her.

No one would forgive her.

She opened the case and took out the disk, laying it in front of her. She just wanted a boy to like her. Just one.

Unconsciously her finger pressed the button to open the CD drive. It slid open temptingly, innocent and something she could understand, process. He insides churned again.

The desktop stretched before her. A hand grasped cold, hard plastic and was moving.

Moving, striking, scraping. Destroying. Years of frustration at being the smallest, the slowest, the clumsiest, were let out. Ruining Blackthorns chance to get Gallagher Academy records.

Minutes later she dropped the scissors, the deadly Trojan program lying in ruined metallic ribbons and flakes. The CD now bare and unreadable, only bits of rainbow color and the smiley face left on the disk.

He stomach settled as she bit her lip in triumph. One day the Gallagher Girls might have their secrets exposed but it would be because of a petite redhead. The door swooshed open to reveal Macey, newly elevated in clearance, now able to access some sublevels. "Hey freak we're all going to lay out on the grass covering the helipad. Cammie snagged some sun block that would shield an albino. Come on, leave the cave. Pale is back but pasty is just tacky."

Despite the insults the beautiful girls face was welcoming, expecting. Liz grinned. So she didn't have boy that saw her. She could wait a while—maybe the next one wouldn't be a traitor.

Maybe he'd look a bit more like Orlando Bloom too. She'd keep the note though.

"Sounds great!" She swept the now useless CD remains into the trash, wincing when the disc itself rebounded off the edge and rolled to land steps away from Macey.

The socialite bent and snatched it up, tossing it carelessly back into where it had escaped. "You missed." Funny really, Liz thought, she'd felt it was more like her first slam-dunk. Following her friend out of the room she smiled.

"Oopsie daisy."


	4. mr moskowitz

I disclaim.

Chapter 4: Harvey Moskowitz

Mr. Harvey Moskowitz is not a Blackthorn alum.

He is not a spy who has traveled the world like Mr. Smith or even a spy like Madame Dabney who can dance a perfect waltz while planting listening devices. He is, however, someone who makes the listening devices.

He is a scientist and there is no shame in this. Any good intelligence person will tell you that practically nothing can be accomplished without scientist and analysts. Most work is done in the lab, not the field.

That's not say when he was approached by the CIA he didn't dream of James Bond style cars and girls and gadgets.

In the end he got the gadgets.

The Blackthorn students intrigue him though. These boys with slacks that are always pressed and shirts that are always collared. Maybe if he had learned to iron he could have been a spy. Come to think of it Bond was always sharply dressed. The children are everything he is not and at the same time he seems to be something they can't figure out. They are always watching him. Sharp eyes that hold secrets peer at him all the time in lessons, never dreaming off as some of the girls do—especially when the boys are there.

It has caused him to be much more clumsy lately.

Headmistress Morgan or Joe Solomon or Smith is always there to help him clean up and evacuate—whichever necessary course is needed. They shake their heads fondly as he apologizes and fumbles a little more.

It's then that he can really feel the eyes.

In the books James Bond became a spy as an adult. Mistakes of childhood already over.

He wonders what goes on at the Blackthorn Military Institute for Boys. Wonders if they are laughed at fondly over mistakes or… or something else.

Joe Solomon went to Blackthorn. Not many people know that. He isn't supposed to but… everyone underestimates a scientist. Truth be told he was a little overwhelmed by the man when they first met so he did a little research. It is what he is god at after all. Thirty seconds under the mans intense gaze and he had almost confessed everything. Confessed his knowledge of Solomon's schooling, of his friendship with Cammie's father. But then Joe had asked him if he'd like to help on field practice with the girls and he just _couldn't_.

Because he got to be James Bond for a few minutes. Or at least James Bond's backup.

The boys made him feel like he should spill all his secrets, or rather, not have any secrets at all. Because secrets around people like Blackthorn Boys were dangerous. And lately he'd come to the conclusion that his Gallagher Girls were just as dangerous.

Knowing them from when they were baby faced 7th graders had allowed him to forget that for a long time. Maybe that was why Rachel had called in Solomon. Maybe the girls needed someone who would see baby fat and the end of braces, someone who wouldn't coddle them. Well they weren't coddled now. But now, a few months in he felt the girls eyes taking on the same look as the boys. Yesterday Anna Fetterman looked at him like she was x-raying his soul. And she wasn't even wearing his x-ray goggles.

It was disconcerning. And it made him wish he had his own piercing gaze.

But then, once in blue moon, he saw the unhappiness in the Blackthorn Boys faces, and it may have been as fleeting but he had a feeling that the unhappiness was as frequent as his explosions.

He was happy with who he was. Especially because it meant he didn't have to iron.

Sorry it's been so long since I've updated. I had finals then a job in Spain. Hopefully this will give you the Gallagher girl hit you need until the book comes out. But I've also got a bad case of writers block so if you don't mind maybe heading to my authors page and doing a poll on who I should I write about next I'd appreciate it.

Please Review!


	5. macey

AN: I'm sorry this took so long and I apologize to everyone who has been wait impatiently or following this since the beginning. I'm not done yer, I just had a horrible case of writers block.

I disclaim.

Macey McHenry.

Macey grew up with a well founded hatred of balls. Most people think balls don't exist anymore, that they're relics that are costumed only. That's bullshit.

The parties her mother throws are balls. Sure it says gala but really… come on people, smell the overpriced roses and string ensemble. It makes sense that this would happen here. Everything important in her life happened at a ball, except… one time. The one time she stepped into an overpriced boarding school and discovered she belonged there, and it was more fighting than finishing. But other than that, other than the moments that followed because of it, everything that _happened,_ happened at a big party.

Bex would say it's all very Cinderella. Cam would say it's all very rehearsed.

There's a reason she can stand the latter for longer.

Latter for longer. Ha. That's alliteration. And take that Dr. Hannov, Kundington Academy, someone got grammer into my head! The trail of destruction she was leaving was growing bigger with every wobbly step. She did this at a party when she was seven too. Her mother had made her put on an ugly big dress. It's only virtue was that it flew up when she spun—even then she had a fetish for exposure—and that had been strictly forbidden with banishment to a high backed chair. She'd punished her parent by dragging markers along the 100 dollar a foot wallpaper.

Her parents just sent her too camp.

Idiots.

And she remembered being this unsteady as well. She'd been thirteen and had just given up on the fact that her father would let go of his moronic presidential obsession to actually realize he had a child. That had cost him a bottle of scotch and her an embarrassing memory of projectile vomiting on the junior senator elect from Rhode Island.

But good things had occurred at parties too. She'd helped saved Cammie from the Circle at her father's losing party, as she fondly remembers it. Her father had once swept her up in his arms for a dance when she was small. Her first mission had been at a museum gala. After six glasses of wine her mother said that she loved her. With her help Liz had managed to get engaged at an event very similar to this one.

Preston had kissed her. It had been in a broom closet and his aim was terrible, the technique even worse… but he'd meant it. Kissed her, not her publicity or her father's influence. Her first real kiss.

She touched her lips and her fingertips came away painted red.

Rolling divots of blood navigated and stuck on her smeared fingers, trapped by the lipstick her mother had designed. Good publicity for the woman—her own daughter murdered… but her lipstick stayed fresh and moisturized. She looked back. The coloring she'd hallucinated had been marker was a blood trail, her macabre yellow brick road her friends would follow to her body.

And her friends would come. If she'd learned anything about her luck a big parties it was that her parents would never bother but her real Gallagher family would go the distance. Even if it meant killing someone with an uncooked piece of pasta.

They wouldn't have to worry about that tonight. Macey took care of the double agent before he could do any more damage. This wasn't a bad way to die—except that she was _so_ dizzy, the plush carpet swaying under her feet. It would be hours before the party was over and the Lebanese couple throwing the party came upstairs to discover the crime scene. By then her handler would know something was wrong, and Liz would know because she had hacked into the status' of her friends long ago. Liz would call Bex, if she could and the two would rush to save her… late but still appreciated.

Finally exhausted she backed into a wall and slid down the expensive wall paper. Hopefully her mom wouldn't find her here, asleep and with a torn dress. Wait… her mom was in D.C. Where was she again?

She'd fallen next to a drape and the fabric brushed her face comfortingly. Maybe once Bex found her she use the secret number Macey and Liz weren't supposed to know about and call Cammie. Cammie the ghost, Cammie the Chameleon. Alliteration again. Maybe Zack would come too and they would bury her together.

Music swelled below her and she made a face—she hated balls. But it was fitting that this, this important moment happened here, with the dance and drinking and _life_ all below her.

The drape kissed her face again and she closed her eyes, and pretended she was sixteen with Preston.

Sorry it a little dark! Please review!


	6. rachel morgan

I disclaim.

AN: Sorry I haven't been updating. Thanks to everyone for their kind reviews. AnimeQueen87 here's a chapter from Rachel Morgan's POV!

Also I realize these can be a little confusing but their just drabbles I dream up about how the situations could be. My Jason Bourne, James Bond loving self like it when good characters are bad and bad are good and everyone's conflicted. Lol I'm just messed up like that. So some of these you have to stretch your imagination. If its too confusing just shoot me a review and I'll PM you my thought process, I'm aware clarity is sometimes lacking. My bad.

Rachel Morgan

Rachel Morgan watched with a calculating eye as _that boy_ interacted with her daughter. She'd confiscated the tapes from the party as soon as she'd been able to get back to the school. Zach.

Zach.

A particularly stupid name as far as she was concerned. The sort of name that _those people_ would name their son. She had hated his mother too. No, that wasn't fair. Rachel shook her head, a physical cleaning of her memories that plagued her. Joe had come in earlier, to inform her that Cameron was still unconscious and Abby was out of surgery. His presence hadn't exactly helped her calming process. She had wanted to strangle that little punk the moment he showed his smug little face from under his makeup. And to think Joe had encouraged this little façade and interference. Like it was a game, something that kids like her daughter should be playing with. Games like that had gotten her husband killed.

She really hated him. Zach that is, not her husband.

That scared her more than anything. Because a Gallagher Girl didn't hate anyone. Emotions that strong could cloud your judgement—and Rachel was never clouded. Reason and planning were what made her great at her job, first as a CIA agent and then as a headmistress. Unless her daughter pulled some scheme like this one, she was always confident and poised and perfect. Inside she could be wreck, but outside she was calm, every movement purposeful. Which was why this boy was well, plainly annoying the shit out of her. Because if she saw him she might not be able to control herself—she'd most likely hit him upside the head with her gun a few times.

For god sake she was an educator! She couldn't go around cold cocking children. Even ones with little smirks like their mother and perfect teeth and an odd habit of protecting and hurting her percious baby all at once.

Rachel took a deep breath. She was calm. She was in control. She let it out. Nope she was still going to hurt the boy. As a headmistress for the best female minds in the country she didn't often swear. It was a habit she had a hard time breaking before Cammie was born and she didn't like to fall back on it but she allowed a curse as she paused on Zach's image. "Fuck."

Seventeen Years Ago. The Morgan's Townhouse. Undisclosed Location.

"_Fuck_ no!" Rachel, her belly showing the growing life inside her, swore like a sailor as her husband updated her on the situation.

Christopher Morgan sighed and scolded her wife gently. "Honey we talked about the swearing. I don't really think—"

She held up a hand. "The baby's irreparable scarring from my crappy language is the least of my worries Chris! I think the rising percentage that we'll be killed today is a little more pressing." She walked over the door and peered out the crack. "What is _she_ doing _here_!"

"Amy's family! I couldn't just let her freeze to death outside. It's December for Christ's sake."

"Don't be obtuse." Their whispered anger was getting louder. "I meant here as in this city, not inside."

He stepped closer, encircling her in his arms. "I know. The answers still the same. She's family. Abby comes over all the time."

Rachel pulled away. "Abby has never tried to kill me."

"Now I think we both know that's a lie." His joke failed to ease the tension and he sobered up. "I know that you don't like her. Hell I'm not her biggest fan either, but she needs help. The baby needs help."

"Whose kid is it? Hers?"

Chris braced himself for the blow up. "Sarah's." There was no need for a last name. The Gallagher Girl that had betrayed her sisters was well known to his wife.

"Your sister brings that woman's son into our house and you expect me to what? Make up the guest bedroom? I should shoot them both and save the world the trouble."

"Hey!" He snapped. "That's my sister!" They were yelling now.

Rachel whirled toward him, hand protectively on her belly. "That's the enemy Christopher! She chose her side—so did you! Or are you forgetting that so quickly?"

His eyes blazed with anger as he retorted. "I remember. I chose you and our kid but don't forget that I was the enemy once too! People change. So why don't you get off your high horse and give her a chance."

"Fine!"

"Great!"

They stood there, both tired and embarrassed from yelling. Rachel grabbed a salt shaker and threw it into the sink, the cheap porcelain shattering in the basin. She harumf-ed and waddled over to the cookie jar, opening it to an array of multi colored M&Ms. She picked out a couple orange and popped them in her mouth before bracing herself on the counter. "Sarah is the reason Misty is dead. Why Jason will never know his mother. She betrayed her sisterhood. Her family."

Her husband kissed her forehead. "Well I don't think we should hold it against her son. He's only three months old. I'm reasonably sure he wasn't in on it."

She giggled sadly. "Don't make me laugh. I'm mad at you."

"Sorry."

Later that night she managed the willpower to step out of the kitchen and throw her Circle member sister-in-law a blanket and a bottle. "For the kid. Not you." Amy Morgan only nodded. Her blond hari hung limply in her face and she shifted the boy so he was sitting up. Little eyes blinked sleepily at her and Rachel paused, suddenly concerned. "What will you do with him?"

Amy looked down impassively at the child she'd stolen from its psychotic mother. "Joe Solomon says he knows a place that'll take him. We'll be gone by tomorrow."

"See that you are." In-law or not, the woman was an enemy and dangerous. Rachel wouldn't let her stay. Moving up the bedroom she paused on the stair. "What's his name?"

"Zach."

Present.

Rachel was pulled from the past by the sound of her cell phone chirping. It was a text message. She opened the phone curious about the unfamiliar number. _Shes awake. Im sry. _The message was cryptic was clear enough to her. Cammie had managed to pull out of her unconscious slumber, and that stupid brat had been there. Zach. She really should have shot him all those years ago. She ejected the disc and locked it in her drawer. Sarah's son helping her daughter, kissing her daughter! She really needed a drink.

Fuck.

Please Review!

P.S. does anyone know Cammie's dads real name? For the life of me I don't think it was ever in books. If it was please let me know and I'll replace this chap with the correct one.


	7. zach goode

I disclaim.

A/N: Sorry it took so long, this was a hard one to write. Also a warning: I drop the F bomb in here a couple times. Tried to avoid it but it was in character.

Zach Goode

Zach could be charming or obnoxious or annoying or sweet. Or anything except himself. Changing your personality was like putting on a pair of shoes—you changed for the occasion. He'd been taught from a young age that people changed depending on who was around. His foster father was a charming guy when Joe deigned to come by and a real bastard when he was beating his frustration into him. Personality was a choice or a weakness, and no matter which it was better to keep them guessing.

But Cammie didn't want any of his masks. She wanted him, no bullshit. Cammie, who was sweet and kind and innocent—everything he wasn't. Or was he? He was sure he wasn't innocent but for the rest… he'd been changing for other people so long he couldn't quite remember who he was.

Who are you?

A simple question really. Children could answer, the kindergarteners who ate crayons and sixteen year olds who barely knew where they were through hazes of various drugs: each one had an answer, an identity. I'm Annie Parsons, I'm Alexander Thomas. I'm smart, I'm caring, I'm rebellious.

He was no one.

What was his real name? Was it Zach? Something more exotic? He'd always felt like a Fitzpatrick or a Carlos. And if he didn't know his name how could he decide his identity? Counselors, teachers, mentors, enemies—each one had pressured him to make a decision to choose a personality. It fit better into their little square molds of who a person should be, why he was. A loose cannon, an angry orphan, a smart troublemaker. He could be anything, so long as chose. But it was impossible—how could he be one person for the rest of his life? What if halfway through he decided it would be better to be a villain than a hero?

He was a spy.

What else was there?

Cammie asked him questions he couldn't answer. Made him think. But she never made him choose. He was sweet and then snarky and sometimes angry and she just handed him all his shit on a platter. And then threw it in his face.

Over the years she'd never asked more of him than he could give. Three years of meetings in dark hallways and empty houses and stolen moments. Of laughing and crying and fucking and a few injuries he preferred to forget about.

Three years playing double agent to the Circle and being anyone but himself and now it was the moment of truth. For the first time in his life he needed to answer the question. Who are you? He could be the right hand of the Circle or he could be Zach Goode, spy but overall nice guy. Two plane tickets sat in front of him, one stapled to a paper, time and date, location and name written in harsh, small letters.

**Cameron Morgan. Gallagher Academy. 16 May. 1200hrs.**

The other was inside an envelope, along with a thick invitation, its cursive embossing promising him a warm smile.

We are pleased to invite you to the Graduation of Cameron Ann Morgan. Ceremonies begin noon of May 16th, on the gardens of the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. Dress is formal and invitations must be presented upon arrival. We thank you for your support of our graduates and look forward to your attendance.

The Morgan Family

He was sure Cammie had forced her mother to send it—Rachel had warmed only slightly. But here it was, a possible defining moment. Zach Goode, Cameron Morgan's boyfriend. In that role he could be nothing but himself, which was an intimidating thought, considering he wasn't quite sure himself was worth it. This was Cammie's way of finally pressuring him. Last time he'd seen her, hurriedly dressing before her train left, taking her back to the safe bubble that was her life, she'd hinted that it was coming. Nowhere to go himself, he'd still been in bed, enjoying watching her lithe, conservative moments. Then she'd turned to him and dropped the bomb that was currently ticking in his mind.

"Are we a couple?" Pushing long hair away from her face, she never stared at him, barely even looked as she pulled on boots.

"Well we certainly did some coupling a couple hours ago." He smirked, always ready for a verbal round or two.

But she wasn't playing. "I'm serious. Because yesterday I was tapped for a CIA operation in Budapest and I was sitting there, thinking 'I can't take this, because I don't know if Zach can get away, and this a two year deep cover surveillance situation.' And that was a little frickin' upsetting because I'm not that girl—the one that makes life decisions depending on a boy. I hate those girls. And then I thought 'Well even so, I don't know if it would matter because my mother was basically gone the first year of parent's relationship and that obviously worked out fine right?' And then it struck me—'we' aren't in a relationship. We're not in anything." She took a breath, slipping her gun into her ankle holster and, for a moment, being still. He'd never seen the Chameleon, the girl who never stood out, be so out of place as when she was sitting on that ugly carpet, looking embarrassed and insecure. "I understand why we've never defined this. It's complicated. We're complicated. But soon I graduate, and that's one of those moments when you're supposed to be able to stand up and know, just for a moment, that you're going to be alright and have a plan. My plan can involve you. Or not. I'm a big girl—I can kill a man and everything—you leaving will not ruin my life."

He took a deep inhale himself. "We're a couple. If I choose anyone, I choose you."

She stood and walked to the door, bag on her shoulder and leaned against the cheap wood, still not meeting his eye. "But I love you. We've never said it but… there." He stayed silent. "This is a lot. I understand that. But right now—we just had sex in some stranger's house. My mother has no idea where I am. I've avoided the hard questions, I have never asked for more than you can give, and right now I'm baring my soul and you can't even open yourself up enough to placate me into forgetting about this whole thing. So…I need you to figure yourself out. Because I can't give up fantastic opportunities in foreign countries for a relationship composed of me and whoever-the-hell-you-are-at-the-moment. It's pathetic. It's April. In May I plan to accept my diploma and get started with whatever's thrown at me. I'd like to start with you, but I need you, not a legend. Come and be with me. But don't come and be someone else."

And then she was gone, down the stairs, and away again. As he stripped the bed for the out of town owners the words had been picking away at his head. She wanted him. But who was he?

Who was he?

And wasn't it selfish of her really? To make ultimatums like that? She'd seen the scars and the darkness—knew it was hard for him to decide, to be exposed. He would what? Go to this graduation and meet her grandparents, wear a suit and take her out to dinner, in a tactical nightmare restaurant where all they'd think about was how many ways there food could be poisoned the second they put their orders in? Never.

Now he looked at the two tickets, same destination. One choice would neuter him, force him into a mold of boyfriend. The other would force him into a role of murderer.

He'd killed before and not thought a second of it. Yes the first time he'd puked, all over his shoes, sickened by the brain matter more than his actions. You didn't become a field agent without the understanding that life was fragile. Killing was easy. The Circle was asking him to murder. To point his gun at Cammie's soft, pink skin and pull the trigger as many times as he needed. When the ticket came he hadn't been surprised. You can only hunt to capture for so long. Eventually you had to step up the game, had to cut your losses.

If he killed Cammie he wouldn't vomit. He'd put the gun to his head and pull the trigger. But he'd be free.

No responsibility or guilt. No girlfriend. No identity. He'd die never able to answer the question that had plagued him since he was that snot faced kindergartener.

Who are you?

He picked up the invitation, suddenly sure for the first time in a long time. Sure since the first day he laid eyes on the plain, beautiful, quiet, everything girl in the Mall.

Good or bad, charming or obnoxious, he was Zach Goode. He was dangerous, he was lost… he was whipped. And he was in love. Zach Goode was in love with Cameron Morgan and he was her boyfriend. It wasn't much and it would probably get them both killed, but it was who he was.


	8. preston winters

I disclaim.

Preston Winters.

Missing. Missing. Cameron Morgan is missing and Preston Winters had no idea what to do.

He was twenty-four, in law school. And while not President, his father was one of the more powerful senators in Congress. He should be able to _do_ something. Anyone who saw Preston Winters during his father campaign would be able to recognize the boy in the young man. He was still tall and thin, but he had finally managed to fill out his suits last year, due to an intense protein shake regimen. He'd switched his Spiderman watch for a Rolex when he finished his undergraduate work, but overall he was just Preston.

Macey said it was like his face was stuck in a time capsule of perpetual puberty.

He said he had the skin of distinguished scholar and a boyish persona. Then Macy smacked him. Hard.

Whatever the Gallagher Academy taught those girls—and he was sure it wasn't finishing—they sure knew how to hit someone. But Macy always made it up to him by kissing it better.

But right now Macey wasn't kissing or smacking or making fun of him. She was crying. Rivets of makeup were lining her perfect skin as she hugged a pillow to her stomach, two more girls flanking her in almost identical poses. The redhead was curled, so small she almost disappeared into his plush cushions. Their beautiful mocha skinned friend just seemed to be sitting, occasionally looking around the room as if she was trying to find something. He hadn't seen Macey McHenry in two years, since the Incident.

The Incident was as follows: he Proposed and she Rejected. And then they sort of stared stupidly at each other until her mysterious cell phone rang and she was gone. The next morning he woke to find everything she ever left at his Princeton apartment gone, her key on the table on top of an ad for a singles bar. It was her way of apologizing. He found her apologizes to be rather painful. He was over it by now. A year of crying to his mother and his study group and he was over it. Macey had been a nice dream, but this was reality and guys like him didn't get girls like her until they were powerful enough to control some livelihoods. And possibly a tri-state area.

They'd shown up last night. A guy who was a perfect replication of an Adonis had dropped them off, pushing them inside and then running his hands and watch over every single surface of the room, barely saying two words to him. But Macey was practically catatonic in his arms and let's get serious—he wasn't going to be able to tell Mr. Muscles anything. The black girl had helped him, pulling shades closed and unplugging phones and internet boxes.

And then they told him. "Cammie went missing this morning. All of us—they think it was a cell and we need a place for the night. Your it." That was the girl, who he'd finally remembered was named Bex. The British accent was familiar, made him think of Princeton vacations.

"Cammie." The redhead had moaned, head in her hands, still gripping onto a USB and wearing a badge that said NSA. "I should have seen it."

"Shut up." Bex again, this time snapping instead of that dead tone she'd been using before. He didn't know which was worse.

Muscles had sighed, one calloused hand brushing the back of the Bex's neck. "Stop. Just stop." The words were harsh but his tone softened them, made her shoulders drop and eyes to well. She turned away before Preston could seen the tears fall. "Dawson will come tomorrow. After it's safe. I need to go-" his voice dropped, "Go to the morgue. Zach's waiting." Suddenly the larger man seemed small, old. Preston finally noticed how grey his color was and how dirty his clothes were. And then he was gone before he could blink and Bex was sliding the deadbolt into place and then… crumbling.

That was the only word for how she collapsed in the floor of his apartment hallway. Not falling, not sliding, just inching down like her bones were dissolving from the bottom up. Dead eyes stared into his shirt. The redhead… Lex? Liz?... finally went into motion going up to her friend and cuddling under her arm. He stared until he realized she was hoisting, lifting the bigger girl, oddly strong for someone that little.

Directing her to the guest shower he pulled Macey to his own room, taking stock of his options before running a bath. Bathing Macey isn't sexual or reminiscent, because his Macey isn't still and quiet. She should be fighting him, talking until he was so fed up he kissed her. But if her body was the same her mind wasn't at the moment and so he worked quickly, eager to reunite her with her friends so he won't have to imagine the horrible things that have happened to her, or to Cameron Morgan, who he remembers the clearest. Because you remember the girl who saved your life.

They'd all slept together, or at least laid together, on his big couch, one of them always watching the door. They didn't tell him anything and he didn't ask, because three years of something with Macey had taught him that Gallagher Girls didn't like questions. Didn't answer them. So they'd stayed and he'd cancelled his date, and ordered Chinese food they didn't eat. He worked on a brief and caught up on his reading and tried not to look at the bruise blossoming on his ex-girlfriends upper arm. He worked on many things but he didn't _do _anything. He felt like he should. Cammie was Macey's best friend. His ex-girlfriends friend was missing and he had six different security specialist on speed dial and he couldn't do anything because he wasn't supposed to _know_.

Know what they did. What was going on. He'd run through every scenario when they'd broken up, from outrage to acceptance to a mixture of the two, but he couldn't just _say_ it. Spies. They made everything so complicated.

Complicated and hard, because now he just had to sit and watch her cry, which was better than the silence but equally as traumatizing. Finally he settled on trying. "Where?"

It was the redhead who answered, voice surprisingly solid as her lift. "Turkey." Which was a shit storm of itself since he had no way of doing anything about that and was it harder or easier? "They almost got us all. And Zach in Maryland and Anna in Ireland—"

"Liz!" Finally Bex came awake.

The redhead quieted and aching, painfully Macey spoke. "What do we do now?"

What did they do? What could he _do_?

Nothing.


	9. anna fetterman

I disclaim.

AN: Okay in honour of the new book I've decided to try something a little different: more action, less character insight. It's still focused on one person but with a new twist. It's also longer since I've kept you all waiting so long. Sorry. Here it goes…

Anna Fetterman

"Agent Fetterman, a pleasure." Shaking hands with the counter-intelligence head gave Anna the heebie-jebbies. Already on edge, the female spy was off put at such an introduction. Usually when one was called to the CI's they were put in a very small room with florescent lighting and grilled for at least an hour.

Still, she plastered on her Gallagher Girl mask and pretended to be nonchalant. "Nice to meet you as well." Madame Dabney had always taught them to be polite, especially to someone who could burn you as quickly as they could commend you. "But I have to admit I'm a little confused as to why I'm here. I had almost finished my deep cover assignment in Dubai when I got the orders to report here." And her immediate flight out had officially ruined any chances of her taking down the arms ring she'd almost cracked.

The man, he hadn't given his name—not unusual for CI—grimaced as he gestured her into an office of considerable size. "Well this is a matter of quite some haste, regarding someone I believe you are familiar with—rather closely I believe." It was the second time he'd used that word in the sentence and Anna didn't like what that implied: nervousness and a need for speed.

He placed a file in front of her and she had to use all her training not to jerk away. Because pined to the folder was Cammie Morgan's picture. She fingered its edge but didn't pick it up, too scared to even lift its cover. Because she knew what was inside it. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand." But she understood perfectly.

_10 Years Ago. New York, New York. Upper West Side. CIA Safehouse 423._

_Anna's trembling left hand was hidden firmly behind her back, but her gun hand was steady, the barrel trained on Cameron Morgan's heart. "Please don't make me do this Cammie." It wasn't the correct way to hold a gun, but Anna couldn't risk her shaking ruining the shot._

_She hated how weak she sounded, how the words came out as a plea instead of a threat. Across the room, her once-sister's hand hovered over the computer's enter key. Breaking into a CIA safehouse had been impressive, but using the encrypted computers to hack Langley's personnel files was extraordinary. Staring into Cammie's eyes, Anna remembered why the Chameleon had always scored highest in Covert Ops. "So you realized the fire alarm was fake." The rogue Gallagher Girl smiled at her old classmate. "I suppose I should have been creative, but sometimes the old tricks are the easiest."_

"_I wouldn't feel that bad," now her voice was steadier, "I was the only one who realized it before the building locked itself down."_

"_True." Her opponents blue eyes took in Anna. "You look great. The CIA's been treating you well. Good. They're lucky to have you."_

_Anna's hand calmed at the praise. "About as well as the Circle's been treating you I suppose."_

_At that, Cammie Morgan's smile froze. "You know better than that Anna. I've never and never will work for the Circle." Anna desperately wanted to believe her._

"_Then why? Why drop out of the farm? Why do this?" Cammie's face darkened and for a moment Anna thought she was either going to turn herself in or shot. It was strange, but during their confrontation, Anna had forgotten all about the gun in Cammie's hand, more focused on the finger that could devastate the careers of a hundred agents. Because Morgan was about to send the names of active CIA agents to an unknown domain, effectively signing their death warrants should the information get into the wrong hands. For a moment Anna was reminded of their assignment sophomore year— but this time the stakes were real. _

_And so were the traitors._

_And then the woman's face lightened. "Do you remember what my mom said when we graduated? 'A true Gallagher Girl is measured by the strength of her heart, her determination in her beliefs, and the trust of her sisters.' Anna—I believe that what I'm doing is the right thing and that I'm doing it for the right reasons. I'm _not_ Circle—I promise you that."_

_She paused. "I think I have the strength to see this through, and despite the fact that you have a gun on me… I trust you not to shot me." She clicked the safety on her weapon and dropped it to the ground. "The question is—do you trust me? Your sister."_

_It was the perfect scenario. Her opponent was actually letting her win… but Anna couldn't do it. "I trust you Cammie. For now." And with that the enemy brunette's finger descended. _

_The two women, once girls, still sisters, stared at each other. Still enemies but with an understanding. "So what are you doing?"_

"_I'm finding The Circle. I'm finding them—and I'm killing them." The darkness was back on Cammie's features, even as the intruder alert alarms lit up her features in red. "But they're everywhere. Off grid is the only way to do it safely."_

"_But why? For Mr. Solomon? For your dad?" They only had minutes now, before the security came in to arrest Cammie. But Anna found herself desperate for answers, desperate to understand her old friend._

_Cammie smiled grimly. "For everyone who they've ruined… I'm sorry."_

"_For what?" But a second later Morgan had pulled out her backup and shot Anna in the gun shoulder. The burst of pain had been unexpected and Anna screamed as the fire tore through her soft flesh and muscle._

_The woman swept down to kick away her gun and whisper. "No bone or major arteries. Several months physical therapy and you'll be fine. I won't get you in trouble Anna."_

_Just as she was passing out from the pain, security burst in and Cammie burst out, going hands first through the window she'd weakened with bullets. They were ten stories up but just as Anna's eyes closed she saw another figure, larger, a man's, zipping down a rappelling line. He caught Cammie and then they were gone, below the windows ledge and Anna's falling eyelids._

"Well," the deputy director seemed uncomfortable, "You see we've just discovered a… well a leak in our office."

"A leak?" She lifted an eyebrow, still careful to show nothing.

The man tapped another folder. "A member of our staff was discovered to be Circle of Cavan. We think that this man may have been working with or recruited by Cameron Morgan or the man you know as Zachary Goode. "

Anna tried to hold back a sigh. "I still don't understand how any of this is relevant to my being removed from the field."

"The agent was overseeing your progress—we felt it unsafe for you to continue, especially considering the Morgan may be gunning for you." That was frightening. How close had the Circle come to killing her before they were discovered?

"Gunning for me?" Seriously? This was why suits stayed in offices and out of field work.

This suit nodded seriously. "Every agent Morgan has gone after was promptly killed within weeks of being targeted. Except you. You're the only person whose seen her alive since she went rogue and lived to tell about it." Untrue. Anna could name at least four more. "We wanted to assure you we're working diligently on bringing her in and were wondering if you saw anything out of the ordinary in Dubai."

She straightened. "Regarding the operation everything was moving as planned, although now we'll have to start from scratch with a new operative. Regarding Cameron Morgan: she's a traitor and I don't want anything to do with her. I have nothing to add to my old report." Her shoulder ached where Cammie shot her.

The man sighed. "Fine. We apologize for bringing you in so abruptly but it was for your own safety. I've been told to inform you to report to your handler tomorrow morning."

Once she was outside the building half an hour later, Anna walked calmly to her car, navy blue heels echoing sharply in the sea of metal. The smell of a Philly Cheesesteak drifted out the window of a pickup two spots away from her own. She stopped and rifled through her purse for her keys. From the driver's seat of the truck, Cammie enjoyed her hoagie and asked, "How'd it go?"

"Fine. They don't suspect a thing. But apparently you're gunning for me—I should be expecting a bullet at any moment."

"Well I am vindictive." She said it around a mouth a cheese and peppers, which ruined any sense of menace. "Bex will get you a cutout tomorrow. Have a nice day off. I recommend getting a sandwich while you're in the country. They just don't do good processed cheese anywhere else." Anna rolled her eyes and found her keys, speeding out of the parking lot like the pissed off field agent she was supposed to be. Damn Gallagher Girl Sisterhood.

This crap was going to be the death of her.


End file.
